


Like It's Christmas

by statichearts



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Domestic Fluff, M/M, literally ian and mickey being the best uncles, set somewhere in the s11 timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28225602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/statichearts/pseuds/statichearts
Summary: When Carl accidentally lets it slip to Franny that Santa might not be so real, the holidays hit a major roadblock. So with two days left until the big day, Ian and Mickey take it upon themselves to restore the Christmas spirit for their favorite niece.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 12
Kudos: 123





	Like It's Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from 'Like It's Christmas' by The Jonas Brothers :)
> 
> I haven't written anything but Miles Between Us in a long time and I thought now would be a great time to continue my tradition of a Christmas one shot by writing some good old fashioned fluff. I hope you all enjoy this little departure from all the angst. And It's my usual speech but thank you to my dear eight friends and especially [heather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whaticameherefor) and [willa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oforamuse) for reading this over for me.

Mornings at the Gallagher residence are nothing short of chaotic. 

It took Mickey a while to get the hang of it—spending every day at the Gallagher house instead of the odd few days like he used to when Terry was in the joint. He went from a visitor to a permanent staple over the years and it was an adjustment, all of it was. But Mickey fell into it easily, he took up the reins as one of the oldest in the house and made breakfast, tied Franny’s shoes, made Liam’s lunch. He did things and yeah, maybe the pandemic really fucked it for all of them but Mickey was no deadbeat when it came to his family. 

His _family_. 

That part took the most time adjusting to.

From their bedside table, Ian’s phone blares an annoyingly jingly alarm right at 8AM on the dot and Mickey is rattled out of his dreams, his head foggy as he opens his eyes and groans, smashing his face into his pillow to muffle it. He can already hear Debbie shuffling outside their door, her voice far too loud for the semi-early hours of the morning. Franny’s footsteps are not far behind and she’s got some toy that sings the same damn baby shark song over and over to the point that Mickey is sure he’s got it memorized. 

It goes silent for a few minutes as Franny descends the stairs but then Carl is yelling down the hallway at his sister, barking that he can’t find his boots. The sound rings in Mickey’s ears and he’s two seconds from getting up to grab Carl by the throat when Ian’s arm wraps tighter around him, pulling Mickey back against his chest. Just like that, Mickey is weak and he slides a hand over Ian’s, his fingers running over the dotting of freckles along his knuckles. 

These are the moments Mickey likes to relish in, the time just before the world really kicks in, when he remembers that Ian is real. Ian is his husband, his partner, his home. It reminds him of what people usually say—it’s the little things or something like that. For Mickey, it’s when Ian is sleeping so soundly but he still burrows his face into the back of Mickey’s neck with that soft contented sigh that Mickey’s heart aches in his chest and he’s reminded that he has someone. He has Ian.

When he’s feeling extra comfortable—the morning chill combated by Ian’s warmth—the last thing Mickey wants to do is wake him, but the alarm goes off again, causing Mickey to snap and turn over in Ian’s arms just so he can lay a firm smack to the top of the phone. The jolt shakes it off the table and onto the carpet with a thud while also moving Ian enough that he grunts, running the hand that was around Mickey over his eyes.

“Someone’s grumpy,” Ian mutters, the very first thing out of his mouth with a low croak. He flips over onto his back, his arm flopping to the side and his bare chest is exposed as the sheets slide down his torso. 

Mickey runs a palm over the length of his face and he moves to sit on the edge of the bed, sliding his feet into a pair of slippers with a hole in the sole. “It annoys the shit out of me.”

“I like to be up early.” Ian chuckles, sitting up enough that he can place a kiss on Mickey’s shoulder gently.

It’s soft, soft enough that whatever annoyance Mickey had woken up with is already threatening to fade.“Then you be up early and I’ll go back to bed,” he grumbles, casing his eyes back toward Ian over his shoulder.

Ian only seems amused and he wraps his arms around Mickey’s waist again, tugging him backwards slowly. “You back in bed sounds like a good idea.”

If it were any other day, any other fraction of time, then maybe Mickey would let Ian have this one but his mind finally catches up and he shakes him off, remembering his plans for the morning. “Too late. Promised the kid I’d make her pancakes.”

A huff leaves Ian’s lip and he buries his face in Mickey’s neck for a moment before flopping back against the bed. “What a good uncle,” he says with a dazed look in his eyes, borderline dreamy, and a crooked smile that makes Mickey’s knees go weak to this day. 

Still, it’s not enough to faze him and Mickey gets up despite the sounds of protest coming from his husband. He heads over to the dresser, pulling out one of his robes for himself and a pair of sweatpants that he launches directly into Ian’s face. “Put your pants on, hurry up.”

“Yes, sir,” Ian says behind the fabric, tugging it off his face and shifting up in bed just as Mickey exits the room.

He walks while sliding his robe onto his shoulders, an attempt to shield himself from the cold that lingers in the thin walls of the Gallagher house. The heater gave up the day prior, sputtering and gurgling until it died completely and with the holidays rapidly approaching, no one has the money to fix it. So two days before Christmas and the house is taking winter wonderland to a whole new level. 

Mickey gets to the bottom landing from the back stairs and the first person he sees is Franny, who has taken up her usual spot at the kitchen table. Her feet swing back and forth in a red onesie, a giant Christmas tree smacked right in the middle and she’s midway through plopping a glob of icing onto a partially burnt cookie when Mickey turns the corner. 

“When’d you make cookies?” Mickey asks, dodging Carl who comes in from the back door in a fury, clearly still missing his boots. 

He bulldozes right by, his presence not fazing the other four people in the room especially not Liam who is face-deep in a newspaper and a bowl of those shifty fruit colored o’s. 

“Some of us have to work so we made them early. For Santa,” Debbie tells him, her eyes going wide as if to tell him to play along. 

Christmas was never that big of a deal to him, never getting much more than a punch or a kick as a present but Franny wasn’t like the rest of them. No, Franny had things to look forward to. Normal kid shit that the rest of them never had. First, it was the Christmas tree the boys lugged into the living room the week before, then it was the peppermint hot chocolates, then the candy canes, the stockings, the lights and now apparently, the cookies. 

It all seems a bit like overkill to Mickey but he nods, playing into the fantasy. “Poor Santa,” he teases as he leans over to ruffle his niece’s hair, stealing a cookie off the top of the pile for good measure. 

The little girl giggles but Debbie instantly waves a hand at Mickey, another tray of cookies balanced on her hip. “Hands off.”

“You’re making cookies and we can’t even eat them?” Carl asks as he busts back in the room, a pair of boots dangling from his right hand. “And don’t put my shit under the stairs. I’m gonna be late.”

Debbie’s eyes roll to the back of her head and she slams the tray onto the counter, picking up a cookie and shaking it dramatically. “All your cop stuff is in the way. I cleaned it up and yes, because they’re not for you. They’re for Santa from Franny.”

“Pretty sure the guy doesn’t need 45 cookies,” Mickey reminds her with a shrug and he exchanges a look with Carl, scooting around Debbie to get out all the shit he needs for pancakes. He grabs the milk first, opening the carton and taking a long swig from it before setting it down on the counter right as Carl opens his big mouth. 

“Santa? She still believes in that?”

The room goes dead silent and they all look toward Carl with the same blank expression, halting everything in the hopes that they don’t have a crisis on their hands. Carl though, he can only manage to blink back at them dumbly, unaware of what he’s just done. 

From the kitchen table, Franny goes doe-eyed and her eyes slowly start to fill with fresh tears until she cracks, dropping her icing spoon with a clang and bolting up the stairs in a fit of wails. 

A collective groan rings out and Debbie moves around Mickey to shove Carl out of the way, heading toward the stairs after her daughter. “Nice going, _Carl_.” She drags out his name for emphasis and she’s gone a second later, on her way to do damage control. 

Carl shrugs, a hint of guilt on his face as he finally realizes what he’s done but the clock at the top of the wall shows 8:30 and he sighs, tossing Mickey a look of apology. “I gotta go to work.” 

He heads off back toward the living room, sliding on his boots as he goes. It’s only a second later and Ian is coming down the stairs, his hair sticking up in all directions and a sleepy glint still in his eye. 

“What’d I miss?” he asks, taking a cookie off the tray and shoving it into his mouth. 

It takes everything in Mickey not to laugh, turning on the stove to go ahead with breakfast. It’s going to be an interesting Christmas, after all. 

— 

It’s around noon when Ian comes into their room, defeated after his turn of talking to Franny. He leans against the door frame dejectedly while Mickey is perched on the edge of the bed, brandishing one of his pistols for its yearly cleaning. 

“She hasn’t come out. I tried everything—cookies, toys, even offered to let her build a fort in our room. She loves that.” His voice is laced with disappointment and Mickey knows he means well, he always does. Where Carl could barely manage an apology, Ian tirelessly tried to coerce their niece back into happiness to no avail. 

“Kid just got told Santa’s a fake. Gotta let her work through it,” he admits because while the rest of them weren’t exactly shocked by the loss of Santa as kids, Franny was way too innocent to get her dreams crushed like that. 

“Two days until Christmas,” Ian breathes out, his foot tapping along the hardwood. “We should do something.”

Mickey doesn’t look up from his cleaning but he can imagine the gears churning in Ian’s brain. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. What’s something you would have liked as a kid?”

“Automatic weapons.”

He can’t see Ian directly from his spot but Mickey knows when his own husband is annoyed, clicking his tongue as a way of chastising him. “Mickey.” 

“Fuck if I know, man. What if we take her to see Santa?” Mickey offers up, finally glancing up at Ian as he brandishes the washcloth at him. 

Another dramatic sigh and Ian runs a hand through his hair, his short locks falling to the back of his head. “The malls aren’t doing that because of the pandemic.”

Mickey shrugs and goes back to messing with his gun, sliding the cloth over the barrel as he considers that the end of the conversation. But he can feel Ian’s eyes watch him for a few silent minutes, his brows likely furrowing slightly before he’s got it. 

“Unless…” 

“Huh?” Mickey asks mindlessly, now nearly completely checked out. 

All he can hear is Ian’s shuffling followed by a clapping of hands, a cheery tone replacing his previously defeated one. “Unless we do it.”

“Do what?” Mickey slides the gun back into its drawer and glances over his shoulder at Ian who is beaming in a way that stretches his lips wide across his face. 

Ian grabs Mickey’s coat from the ground and tosses it toward him, bouncing on his heels like a kid. “Get your shoes,” he orders him before taking off around the corner, his footsteps heard on the stairs in a matter of seconds. 

“Hey! Do what? Ian!” Mickey calls out to him, his face scrunched up in confusion. “Jesus Christ.”

Still, Mickey does what he’s told because maybe he is a little bit interested in seeing exactly what Ian’s bright idea is. 

\-- 

“This is the dumbest shit I’ve ever seen.”

Mickey stands in front of a display of holiday outfits and decorations, the twinkling craft glitter catching the light in odd ways. There are the typical costumes—the Santas, the elves, the reindeer onesies—but then there’s a piss poor grinch costume with green pocket lint stuck to some polyester and Mickey is pretty sure it could single handedly suck the Christmas spirit out of anything. 

Ian comes up behind him from a different aisle, his basket brimming with all kinds of knick knacks that Mickey is pretty positive no one needs. At first glance, Mickey catches chocolates, candy canes, the usual shit, but then there’s tinsel, bags of coal, and those little reindeer that shit jelly beans. Necessities, obviously. 

“We have to work within our budget,” Ian tells him as he pushes the basket onto his lower arm, bumping his hip with Mickey’s. 

Budget. Money. They already settled the score in that department but that didn’t change the fact that Ian is keeping a firm eye on their finances. 

“Yeah, budget. Sure.” Mickey picks up the leg of one of the suits, rolling the fabric between his fingers. “Pretty sure Santa didn’t wear a fucking red napkin in the middle of winter.”

“Don’t be such a scrooge, Mick,” Ian jokes, reaching above Mickey’s head and grabbing one of the Santa costumes to hold in front of his body. 

“Why do you get to be Santa anyway? What am I supposed to be doing?”

“I’m bigger. More jolly.” 

Mickey’s expression goes sour quickly and he puffs up his chest without meaning to. Bigger, more like a fucking giant, he thinks to himself though he does eye the costume, imagining what it would look like on Ian. 

Ian doesn’t seem to notice though, flipping through the costumes like a little kid. “You can be Mrs.Claus,” he suggests as he passes a frilly dress. “Or..” A pause and Ian tugs out a green spandex looking get up, complete with pointy hat and ears. “A real cute little elf.”

His eyes trail over the actual definition of humiliation and he turns on his heels, ready to stalk off to any other aisle but this one. “Fuck off.”

A chuckle leaves Ian’s lips and he hurries after Mickey, trying but failing at keeping the amusement out of his voice. “Come on. Do it for Franny.”

“No.”

“Please?” Ian pleads, shaking the costume in front of Mickey’s face as they round on the dehydrated food aisle. He knows as well as anyone that Mickey’s soft spot includes Franny even if he doesn’t openly admit it, so fuck Ian for playing to his weaknesses. 

“Asshole,” Mickey grumbles, snatching the costume out of Ian’s grip and stalking off in the direction of the chips. 

“I love you!” He calls out after Mickey, now more smug than amused. 

Yeah, he fucking better. 

\-- 

Mickey is halfway through stuffing Ian’s suit with random couch cushioning when Debbie runs up the stairs, telling them to hurry the hell up. He waves her off, closing the door to their room behind her. 

It’s Christmas Eve and the house is bustling more than usual with the addition of Lip, Tami, Freddie, Kev, V, Amy, and Gemma. The whole ruckus of glasses clinking and paper rustling can be heard coming up the stairs in a blare of Christmas music and children squeaking with jingle bells firmly held in their grip. 

Finishing up with Ian’s suit, Mickey gets up off his knees and smooths his hands over the velvet, his eyes taking in the sight. Now, Ian is normally a handsome guy, definitely above average, but the sight of him dressed as a dime store Santa—well, it’s pretty hilarious. 

Mickey holds back his laughter and guides Ian over to the mirror in the far corner, standing just behind him. “Alright, Santa. Let’s hear you be jolly then since you’re so damn good at it.” And maybe he’s teasing him just a little bit but how could he not? 

Even behind the scraggly white beard, Mickey can see Ian’s glower and it only serves to make the whole thing ten times funnier. “Ho, ho, ho,” Ian delivers dryly, tugging at the beard to get it to sit right on his face. 

“Nah, deeper.”

“Ho, ho, _ho_.”

Mickey shakes his head, moving around Ian to pick up the bag with the presents they managed to get for the kids. “Too deep. Sounds like you’re in a fucking porn.”

“Then you do it,” Ian bites back at him with a swat of his hand that narrowly misses Mickey’s forearm. 

“Elves don’t ho ho,” he counters with the same amused smirk Ian gave him the other day. 

Isn rolls his eyes hard and clears his throat, straightening up to add a bit more confidence behind it. “Okay, one more time,” he breathes out. “ _Ho, ho, ho.”_

“Close enough.” Mickey shrugs and he hands the sack over to Ian, careful not to smash the collection of toys rattling around inside. 

Maybe it isn’t perfect but it’s all the same to kids, right? Mickey definitely wasn’t picky when he was a kid so they had to take what they could get. Ian finishes fixing the belly part of his suit and he slings the presents over his right shoulder, clearly trying his best to get into the correct headspace. 

“I’ve got it. Go change,” Ian tells him, lightly slapping the side of Mickey’s thigh as he takes the elf outfit off the bed and hands it over to his husband. 

“Hope you know this shit’s humiliating,” he complains but he takes the hanger anyway, holding it so the bottom half of it scrunches up on the floor in a neon green heap. 

Of course all Ian can do is offer up that damn glowing smile, his teeth extra white when surrounded by the beard. “All part of being an uncle.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Mickey disappears into the hallway, half dragging the bright green outfit behind him. Once he’s in the bathroom, he wrestles getting the thing on; it’s all a mess of tights and stretchy velvet. It’s fucking embarrassing is what it is but he thinks about the sad pout on Franny’s face and reminds himself that it’s worth it. He’s doing it for a reason. The elf ears and hat fit snugly on top of his head, completing the outfit. But even then, Mickey has to work up the nerve to look at himself, cringing as he peers in the mirror. 

He isn’t sure how much time has passed but he realizes it’s been longer than he anticipated when Ian appears in the doorway, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees Mickey. His face contorts into a tight smile, his whole body trying not to bust out laughing but there’s also a roseyness to his cheeks that wasn’t there before.

“Wow. You—” he huffs out in disbelief. “You’re so cute.”

Mickey nearly snatches the hat off his head at that very moment, his cheeks blazing a fiery red. “Cute. Are you really calling me cute right now?”

“Very cute.” Ian steps up so he’s standing just a few inches away, both of their reflections squeezed into the small frame. He presses an itchy kiss to Mickey’s cheek and okay maybe if Ian says it, Mickey is okay with being cute. 

“I look like an asshole,” Mickey says in direct contrast to the pleasant thoughts roaming around in his head. 

“Cute.” Ian grins but Mickey just scowls in return. It gets Ian to continue to lay it on thick, resting his chin on Mickey’s shoulder. “It’ll be fun.”

As much as Mickey grumbled, he knows how important this all is. Not just keeping the magic alive for Franny but what it means to Ian, to the family, to him. Mickey’s first Christmas as an uncle, his first Christmas with a husband, his first Christmas with a real family. If he had to put on a funny costume and make a fool of himself for the sake of his family then so be it.

Mickey lets out a sigh to signal that he’s ready, pulling the hat tighter on his head on the off chance that it flies off on the way down the stairs. “Santa first. I’ll bring up the rear,” he says to Ian, shaking him off and nudging him out of the door toward the stairs. 

Ian obliges and goes ahead first but not without turning around, wiggling his eyebrows in the direction of his husband. “Oh yeah?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey grunts, pushing Ian the rest of the way to the stairs with two palms flat on his back. 

Downstairs, it looks like someone express mailed the North Pole directly into the Gallagher living room. The tables have all sorts of cookies, the candy that Ian bought, and drinks in every kind of red and green cup that Debbie could get her hands on. Most of the adults have beer in hand or some kind of spiked eggnog shit that they got out of a box while the kids squat down beside the tree, shaking the multiple boxes lying under its branches. 

No one notices them at first and Mickey is thankful for the brief second of anonymity. He’s half-tempted to run and hide, maybe use Ian as a human shield but then Ian’s voice is booming through the living room like a complete fucking show off. 

“Ho, ho, ho, Franny! It’s me - Santa.” Ian does the voice nearly perfectly and combines it with a belly shake that makes Debbie and Lip cover their laughter in unison. 

Everyone’s eyes turn toward them and it’s silent except for the faint melody of ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ playing on the radio. For a second, Mickey is sure they’ve fucked it. Two bigass idiots in stupid costumes—a fact that they would most likely never live down, especially after Carl grabs his phone to start taking several candid photos of them. Debbie sputters out a laugh and Kev nearly spills his beer but the real important part here is Franny. 

The little girl glances up from where she had her hands around a present box two times her size and at first glance, she doesn’t react at all. Her facial expression is so blank that it makes Mickey’s stomach churn with further regret but he plasters on a smile when Ian elbows him in the ribcage, muttering something about ‘pretend you’re excited’. 

Another beat and Franny slowly sets down the box, standing up in her Christmas onesie to face the two men on the stairs. Her eyes eventually shift, so quick that Mickey barely catches it, but there’s a twinkle there when she takes off in a run, launching herself at Ian’s leg.

“Santa!” Her squeals are so high-pitched that they could very easily break the sound barrier but the relief that washes over Mickey more than makes up for it. 

Her small arms wrap around her uncle’s leg and she clings tightly to the fabric of his suit with the biggest smile Mickey has probably ever seen. The sight goes straight to his heart, twisting it around in circles until it’s a giant bow inside his chest, blooming proud and happy. He lets out a chuckle and peers up, catching Debbie’s own gaze where a wetness sprouts—joy in its purest form. 

The whole room eventually drums back to life and Lip gives Mickey a thumbs up from his spot just beside the Christmas tree. He returns the gesture with a middle finger, keeping it out of sight of Franny as she brings her eyes up to peer straight into Mickey’s soul. 

“Uncle Mickey looks funny,” she says unabashedly, giggling as she reaches out to tug on his tights with a curled fist. 

Mickey laughs and kneels down to her level, whipping out a candy cane that Ian gave him earlier and holding it out for her to take. “Yeah, no kidding, kid.”

Franny happily accepts the present and she spends another ten minutes gushing over Ian before her child mind diverts back to a pile of candy in the kitchen, taking Amy and Gemma along with her. Mickey takes the opportunity to snatch a beer out of Kev’s hand, plopping himself on the couch right beside Ian, who has taken to balancing his own beer on his fake belly. 

Ian grabs his bottle to clink it lightly with Mickey’s, scooting a few inches closer to him, the beard now tucked down to his chin. “I think we have a new career ahead of us. Part-time security, part-time Santa’s helpers.”

A long swig from his beer and Mickey is rolling his eyes, his laughter a deep rumble in his chest. “Not in this lifetime.”

Debbie appears from the kitchen after leaving the kids, her hands full with another plate of cookies that she sets down on the table. She’s done up just as badly as the pair of them, all lights and glitter scattered across her face and sweater. What shines the brightest though, is her smile as she considers them, sparing only a glance back to where the kids are stuffing their faces. 

“Thanks, guys,” she tells them, picking up two cookies and handing them over to the two of them.

The two men accept them and while Mickey stuffs his cookie into his face immediately, Ian fondly watches him, his teeth baring down on his bottom lip. “Anything for our family.”

— 

It’s around 10PM when the party dies down and Ian and Mickey have discarded most of the pieces of their costumes in favor of helping with the clean up. The kids said their goodnights the hour before, which would have been earlier if it hadn’t been for Franny suctioning herself to Ian’s arm like some kind of rabid animal. It took four promises of cookies and several more presents under the tree to get her to let go, finally upstairs and in bed at a decent hour. 

Once everything’s just about done, Mickey heads up to their room first and quickly sheds the rest of the costume in favor of his usual white tank top and boxers. He wastes no time falling back into their bed, his eyes closing as he waits for Ian’s usual heavy footsteps to make their way up the stairs. It takes ten minutes for him to hear the familiar noise and he sits up right as Ian walks into the room. 

He’s still donning his Santa costume though he’s lost some stuffing along the way, pulling out chunks of it from an open space where a button has come loose. “I don’t know about you, but Santa wants some alone time with his favorite elf,” Ian says with a certain tone to it, shedding the red coat and tossing it on the ground. 

Mickey snorts and he scoots over, patting the spot next to him on the bed. “You ever hear the shit that comes out of your mouth?”

Ian happily takes up the spot, kicking off the boots that came with the suit and tossing those as well. “You act like you don’t love it.”

“Never said I didn’t.”

In fact, Mickey loves it. He loves all of it. Every loud second, every stupid comment, every petty argument they’ve ever had because it means this is real. As silly and dumb as their Christmas Eve was, Mickey knows then that he wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the world. He would rather have a thousand idiot Christmases with Ian than a single other one without him. Without all of them. 

Because whether Mickey expected it or not, he’s a Gallagher and Gallaghers take care of their family. 

The thoughts make Mickey dreamy and he leans into Ian, the other man sliding an arm around his waist to hold him close. 

Ian drops his voice down to a whisper as his hand glides along Mickey’s back, drawing small circles through his shirt. “Have a good time?”

A thousand and one descriptions and words run through Mickey’s mind but none of them feel right. None of them feel like they capture everything that beats so triumphantly in his heart. There’s no word for what it means to be this happy. 

“Yeah,” Mickey settles for, turning his head to face Ian straight on, their faces merely inches apart. 

And there it is again—that beautiful beaming grin that will forever be the demise of Mickey. “Good,” he says softly, tilting Mickey’s chin up with one finger and pressing their lips together in a soft and chaste kiss. 

It’s all there. It’s all written on Ian’s lips, in Franny’s smile, and in a hundred Christmas lights strung up around the house. 

Mickey won’t ever be alone for Christmas again. Maybe for the rest of his life, he’ll always have a merry Christmas. 

**Author's Note:**

> Have some tooth rotting fluff courtesy of me. As always, thank you for reading and I hope everyone has a beautiful holiday! All of support means the world to me. 
> 
> come talk to me at:  
> [@s11mikhailo](https://twitter.com/s11mikhailo) \- twitter // [xgoldendays](https://xgoldendays.tumblr.com) \- tumblr //  
> [s11mikhailo](https://curiouscat.qa/s11mikhailo) \- curiouscat


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